Анатолий Шигапов – EXPIRATION DATE (страница 7)

Daniel Miller stood in line. He had lost weight, his face was gaunt, his eyes sunken. He wore an old jacket that no longer kept him warm. Thirteen years had passed since he signed the mortgage. Thirteen years in which he had aged thirty. He had come for synthetic rations. Usually he received them at home, via drone, but this month the drone did not come. "Technical difficulties." Daniel did not believe in difficulties. He believed the corporation was simply testing how dependent they were.

There were hundreds of people in line. They stood silently. No one talked. Only the sound of footsteps on the concrete floor and the hum of ventilation. Their faces were all the same - gray, lifeless, with empty eyes. They looked like zombies. They were zombies - only walking, breathing, but dead inside.

Daniel remembered when he used to buy food at the supermarket. Real food - vegetables, meat, bread. He remembered the taste of fresh bread, still warm, with a crispy crust. He remembered the smell of watermelon when cut open. He remembered the smell of fried meat. Now he ate synthetics. Nutritious, but tasteless. It was like plastic with vitamins. You chewed - and felt only texture. Rubbery, monotonous, chemical. You could eat it, but there was no pleasure. And hunger did not go away. Inside - emptiness.

The line moved slowly. Ahead - a woman with a child. The child, about six, with big sad eyes. He was crying. He wanted normal food. He did not understand why his mother gave him these gray briquettes. The mother tried to calm him, but could not. She herself was on the verge of tears. Daniel heard her whisper: "Hush, honey. This is all we have. It's good. It's healthy." The child did not believe her.

Daniel looked at them. He thought of his daughter, Emily. She was fifteen. She was used to synthetics. She did not remember the smell of fresh bread. She had grown up on this. For her, synthetics were normal. Daniel had tried to explain that food used to be different, that people ate meat, vegetables, fruit. She did not understand. For her, his memories were like fairy tales. Unbelievable. She said: "Dad, you're making it up. Food can't smell like that. That's chemistry." He tried to argue, then fell silent. Why? She would never taste a real apple. She would die without ever having tried one.

Finally he reached the counter. Behind it stood a drone - a silver arm dispensing rations. Daniel pressed his wrist to the scanner. A mechanical voice:

Daniel Miller. User DM-77342. Credit rating - 389. Access level - "basic." Your ration - 3.2 kilograms.

The drone dispensed a briquette. Gray, faceless, wrapped in transparent film. Daniel took it. It was heavy. 3.2 kilograms - his ration for the week. Enough not to die, but not enough to be full. He was always hungry. Always.

He left the center. Outside - cold. The synthetic food in his hand barely warmed him. He walked home, through the perfectly clean streets. Past perfect trees. Past perfect fountains. Cleaning drones darted back and forth, collecting trash, of which there was almost none. He looked at all this and felt nothing. Only fatigue. Deep as an ocean.

At home - his wife Sarah. She sat on the sofa, staring at the wall. With empty eyes. She no longer worked - laid off, "staff reduction" two years ago. Now they existed only on rations and Daniel's tiny pension - he still worked as a consultant on corporate ethics, but earned less than three thousand. The irony of fate: he taught others ethics, while working for those who had destroyed ethics. He hated his job. But without it they would die.

Dan, - she said without turning her head. - Our supplies are gone. Emily needs a new school uniform. We have no money. In the account - 47 credits. We won't be able to buy even synthetic bread if the drone doesn't come.

I know, - he said. He sat down beside her. Put the ration on the table. - We'll manage somehow.

How? - Sarah's voice trembled. - We have no money. No food. No future. The corporation decides everything. We cannot leave. We cannot sell the house. We cannot even die, because funerals are also expensive, and without money we will simply be sent to the crematorium and the ashes sold. We are assets, Daniel. Not people. Assets.

Daniel looked at her. He wanted to say something encouraging. But he could not. Because she was right. He took her hand. It was cold, like a dead person's.

We will survive, - he said. - We always survive.

She did not answer. She stared at the wall.

February 2058. Green-Matrix Headquarters. Tokyo.

Henry Clark sat in his office on the 120th floor. Black marble floor, glass walls, a view of a city that no longer belonged to Japan. Tokyo was a zone of influence of Green-Matrix. Only half the population was Japanese. The rest were corporate employees, their families, service personnel. Japan as a state still existed, but it did not even control its own capital. The emperor lived in his palace, but no one listened to him. He was a symbol. Like all kings, presidents, prime ministers.

Before Henry - a holographic map of the world. Green marked territories controlled by Green-Matrix. Eighty percent of the world's food. He smiled. Not broadly, not joyfully - coldly, like a winner who was already tired of winning.

Report, - he said.

Across from him - the analytics department. The chief analyst - a woman with Asian features, in a strict suit, holding a tablet.

Sir, we control eighty percent of the world's food market. Vertical farms operate in forty-seven countries. Synthetic food accounts for ninety-five percent of the diet of the population in developed countries. Dependence is complete. We can stop supplies to any country at any moment - and within a month famine will begin there.

Henry nodded:

And what about states? Are they trying to resist?

Isolated attempts. Some countries tried to introduce subsidies for local agriculture to bring farmers back to the land. We reduced supplies to those regions by ten percent. Within two months they returned to negotiations. They have no choice, sir. They can either eat our food or die. They choose our food.

Henry smirked. "They have no choice" - he heard these words every day. And every day they sounded like music.

And what about real food? - he asked. - Do we control that too?

Yes, sir. Real food - meat, vegetables, fruit - is now produced only in corporate zones. For top managers and their families. We have established strict quotas. Real food is a status symbol. It is expensive. Ordinary people cannot afford it. The price per kilogram of real meat is 500 credits. That is a month's salary for an average employee. They eat synthetics.

Henry looked out the window. Down there, millions of people. They ate synthetics. They did not know the taste of real meat. They did not know what fresh bread was. They were born and raised on plastic. For them it was normal. His grandchildren - they also ate synthetics. He tried to give them real food - they refused. They did not understand the taste. For them, real food was strange, unfamiliar, even disgusting. "Grandpa, it's not tasty," they said. He looked at them and felt both pride and fear. He had created a generation that did not know what food was. He had created the perfect consumers.

We have won, - he said quietly. - We have won because they chose us.

SCENE 3. DIGITAL PASSPORT 2.0

April 2055. New Eden. Identification Center.

The building looked like a temple. White marble, tall columns, glass doors that opened silently. Inside - hundreds of people who had come for a new passport. Not a state one. A digital one. State IDs were now almost powerless. Without a digital passport, you could not work, buy food, use transport, receive medical care. You were an outcast. You were invisible.

Daniel Miller stood in line. He looked at the screen showing an advertisement. A beautiful woman with a smile, perfect like everything in this world, said:

Digital Passport 2.0 from Cyber-Fund - your life in one chip. Taxes, insurance, medical history, mortgage - everything linked to your profile. No paperwork, no queues, no problems. Just hold your wrist to the scanner - and the system will recognize you. Safe. Convenient. Reliable. Join the future. Join us.

Daniel looked at the screen. He did not need this passport. He had a state ID. But without a digital passport he could not get a job, get a loan, even buy synthetic food - the system scanned his wrist with every purchase. Without it - you were nobody. Just biomass.

The line moved. Daniel looked at the people around him. They all looked the same. Same faces. Same eyes. Same clothes - practical, cheap. They were no longer people. They were users. Just waiting their turn to become part of the system.

Finally he reached the counter. Behind it - a drone with a needle for implanting the chip. The drone looked like a silver arm glowing blue.

Your name? - mechanical voice.

Daniel Miller.

Place your wrist.

He extended his hand. The drone implanted the chip. A brief pain - the needle went under his skin, and he felt a small piece of metal settle on his bone. A second later - done. A small dot remained on his wrist, like a birthmark.